The River Running
by Makarios
Summary: This is the story of the life and death of a mortal woman and her accidental life torn between the lord of Mirkwood, and the humans of Laketown. This is not a happy story, nor a tragedy, merely one of life, love, and death. Read on and learn of the life of a mortal woman whom the Elvenking Thranduil would never forget. OC x Thranduil
1. Chapter 1

If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.  
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.  
In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;  
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.  
Trust the dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.

[On Death, Khalil Gibran]

Katya dug her pole deep into the muck on the bottom of the river, she could feel the muscles of her back rippling as she shoved the small barge forward against the current. The river pressed gently against the raft as she steadily moved it up the river. When the current grew strong once again she would have to return to using the oars, but here she could drift steadily along after each thrust of her guiding pole. The water was deep here and ran slowly, she could feel its force opposing her own, slowly giving way against her strength.

Katya knew this river and the quiet bubbling current of the River Running was like the blood flowing through her own veins. She had grown up on the waters of Long Lake, her house perched upon its surface, defying its depths as if it could float above its surface for eternity. Katya had grown strong on this river, rowing it first with her father when she was young. It had given her deep blisters on her palms, turning into hard callouses, slowly wearing her hands just as the River Running eroded its banks. And it had given her arms of iron, strong toned muscles along her forearms, biceps, shoulders, and back.

River Running had given them their livelihood and had shaped how they had grown and who she had become. Katya had now been running the river on her own for four years, rowing the barrels of wine up its banks to the Halls of Thranduil. The elves of Mirkwood were very fond of fine wine and it was a great source of trade for Lake-town and its inhabitants. Although it had been easier in the past to ship the barrels on carts with horses through the trails of Mirkwood, the growing darkness in the woods had made it more dangerous and harder to travel.

She remembered the first time she had seen the elves of Mirkwood when she was eleven and had helped her father run the river for the first time. She had developed large bleeding blisters on her hands on the early part of the river and her father had wrapped them and she was sitting with her feet in the water, watching her father contentedly push the raft along. Pausing for a moment, he glanced up into the branches, squinted with a smile and dug the pole deeply into the riverbed and leaned against it.

"Ai!" He called up to the branches and Katya jumped in surprise at the sound of bell-like laughter ringing down from the trees that overhung the River Running.

"Mae l'ovannen," a beautiful voice called back, and an elf dropped soundlessly from the trees onto the raft. The elf and her father conversed quickly, the elf's voice flowing seamlessly like the rapids of the river itself, her father's voice more gravelly and broken like the pebbles that rubbed against each other at the bottom. Katya found it difficult to follow their conversation. She knew basic phrases from her father's upbringing, but over years of speaking with the elves in his trading, her father had become relatively fluent.

"This is Bercalion," her father said, turning to Katya, who was examining the elf in wonder. "He does not speak the common tongue, but he is in charge of the trading dock and meets us to unload the barrels."

The ageless face of the elf grinned at Katya, taking in her barefoot appearance and wet hair. He had seen her swimming along the side of the raft in the stiller waters, the young girl happily playing in the Celduin. Now she sat in soaked garments, her hair dripping onto her shoulders as she looked up at him with wide eyes.

"This is my daughter; Iellig. Her name is Katya," her father introduced.

"Katya," the elf repeated. Her name sounded almost beautiful on his tongue, though slightly awkward and choppy. His grey eyes appraised her happily and he turned to her father and shook his head with a laugh, gesturing to her. "Laesneniel."

They enjoyed this private joke together as her father continued to row up the river to the disguised dock where they could tie the raft. A gate separated the river to the entrance of the cave where they would unload the barrels of wine.

Throughout the years Katya became very familiar with the river and the loading dock of the elves. Bercalion would always meet them, with the other guards who would help them unload the wine. The king's butler Galion would meet them there to survey the wine and pay them their dues or offer them goods in return. They would float the barrels back down the river to be collected by them at the mouth that opened up to Long Lake, along with others that were still brought to them on land. She would frequently sit with the elves in the loading bay with her father and enjoy a glass of wine, though they were never invited farther into the Halls of Thranduil.

Her father had his accident on the raft when she was sixteen, falling as they had gone up a dangerous area of the rapids, his ankle lodging between two boulders, trapping him beneath the surface of the river until he gave the last of his life over to it. Just as the River Running had given so much to Katya it had taken so much from her. Yet she could not hate these waters, her father never had. Katya could only love and respect the river, remembering what her father had taught her and listening to what else it might teach her.

Even the most experienced rafter could have an accident. Normally they would get out and walk the sides of the bank, dragging the raft upriver by ropes between the two of them but because of the heavy rain the past couple of nights the river was deep enough that they could attempt to row up it. Unfortunately the current had been stronger than expected and they had been dragged back and hit a submerged boulder. One of the wine barrels had been knocked free and he had made a grab for it just as the raft jarred itself loose and he fell in. Katya didn't know why he had put his foot down, it was the one thing that a person should never do if they fell into rapids, but even the best could become disoriented in the water.

She remembered sitting on the banks of the river, water flowing gently around her ankles and tears falling down her face the day her father had passed. His body had swept down the river well ahead of her and she was shivering on the raft, lodged against the bank and some stones in shock. Katya's mind swirled in confusion, unable to comprehend what had happened and what to do now. Laying down on the hard wood of the raft, Katya shivered in her wet clothes and pulled her knees into her chest, staring at the river hollowly. She had tried to save him, jumping in after him, but by the time she had freed his body from the rocks it was too late and she'd had to grab onto a boulder or risk being swept downstream with him. All Katya could do was lay on the side of the raft with her feet in the water as silent tears streamed down her face until she fell asleep in exhaustion.

She woke to agitated shaking, blinking open dry eyes to see the frantic face of Bercalion.

"Man ceril? Prestad?" He asked, his grey eyes searching the surroundings in concern. "Mornenion?"

Katya froze at the name the elves had given her father and started sobbing again, unable to get the words out that she needed to say. If she said it herself, it would make it too real. Instead she just couldn't stop crying and comprehension dawned in the eyes of the elf she had known for years and whom her father had known for all of his life and his eyes clouded with pain. Bercalion wrapped her in his arms as she sobbed into his chest. All Katya could do was cling to him as he lifted her gently off of the raft and sped through the forest, her tears soaking his tunic.

"Av-'osto," Bercalion whispered, stroking her hair.

Katya could only sit numbly on the dock with the blanket one of the elves had wrapped around her and shiver in the growing darkness. Rubbing her fingertips together she stared into space numbly, her eyes unseeing. Katya jumped as another hand clasped hers. Dark eyes focused on icy blue ones, gazing at her with calm empathy. The unknown elf handed her a small mug of warm spiced wine, the heat traveling up her fingertips like new life breathing into her soul.

"You are welcome here Laesneniel," he said. "My name is Legolas, your father was known well and greatly loved by the elves of this Hall. We will do what we can to help you."

"Le fael," she answered hollowly. Her eyes drifted up from the floor, looking hollowly past Legolas. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Legolas stared at her sadly, gently wrapping an arm around her and helped her to stand. Leading her into the Halls of Thranduil where she had never before been. She barely remembered the first time she saw him, but he would never forget the first moments he saw her. He was walking soundlessly down the corridors of his Hall, silently enjoying the fall breeze that drifted through the hallways and rustled his long robes. It had been nearly an hour since Bercalion his Nikerym l'Ando, Captain of the Gate, had appeared before him with the tragic story of the death of one of their longtime traders and the presence of his now orphaned daughter. While Thranduil's reign was known as one of distance from the outside world and he was famed for his distrust of intruders in his realm, he was not cruel. The story had moved him and he had welcomed the child into his hall.

As he walked, firelight flickering off of golden hair caught his eye as he turned the corner, there were few elves in his kingdom who were so fair-haired, the Silvan tended to share woodsy hair while he and his son, of Sindarin descent, bore silvery hair. And none were as short as the young girl who walked beside his son, barely coming up to his chest, nor were their faces marred by any blemish while hers had the occasional red blotch and her grey eyes were bloodshot and dry from crying. In her hands she was clutching a cup of spiced wine, holding onto it for dear life, yet she had not taken a sip from it. Thranduil's face softened in empathy as he looked at her hollow face. She was so young, she must have been the same age that Legolas had been when his mother had died.

"Legolas," he said, never taking his eyes off of the girl, "Who is this?"

"This is who the guards of the gate call Laesneniel, she is the daughter of the wine merchant who lost his life," he introduced.

"Laesneniel," Thranduil repeated, her name rolling musically off of his tongue. "I cannot imagine your loss, you are welcome to remain in my kingdom for as long as you will. Do not hesitate to come to us if you need anything."

The girl didn't even look at him, too lost in the pain and confusion of her thoughts to realize she was being addressed. Sighing, Thranduil observed the broken girl for a moment longer, placing a hand gently on her curly head before moving gracefully away. It was a terrible thing to lose a loved one; unimaginably awful. But children were resilient, much more resilient than he had ever been. He still could not speak his wife's name and it had been nearly a millennium.

* * *

AN: This is obviously based on the book version of the river, not the movie version. As a warning, this is much more a story on the human condition of mortality and long lasting friendship between an elf and human. Yes, there is romance in it, but it is not the main focus. It also has a sad ending because I can't write happy stories lol. It will overlap with the events of the Hobbit at the very end and takes place roughly 60 or so years before the Battle of Five Armies.


	2. Chapter 2

_"They wanted to speak, but could not; tears stood in their eyes.  
They were both pale and thin; but those sick pale faces were bright with the dawn of a new future, of a full resurrection into a new life.  
They were renewed by love; the heart of each held infinite sources of life for the heart of the other."_

[Fyodor Dostoyevsky]

Katya spent the next few months wandering the halls of the Woodland realm, slowly regaining the person she'd been before her father's death. Bercalion and his guards had located her father's body and the Lord of the Woodland Realm had allowed his burial just outside of their walls. Katya recalled the day in late fall that she wandered out to his grave, breathing in the crisp air, she sat down in front of his resting place. The elven dress she wore rustled softly around her legs, light as air, but around her torso she had wrapped her father's tanned dear-hide coat. It was heavy but sturdily made and it still smelled of his musky earthy scent.

"Papa," she murmured, "I think I'll be alright. I know you must be worried about me, but there are people here who care about me. I think I'm safe. I miss you every day."

Katya wiped a tear away, smiling bravely at the waxy green leaves that were growing around the stone marking her father's grave. The stone was carved in elvish script that she could not read, but the appearance of it was beautiful and made her smile. It felt good to know that her father had been loved by the people of this realm and that his death would be mourned. He had not been a man of prominence or popularity in Lake-town, keeping mostly to himself.

Laying back in the grass, Katya looked up at the sunlight streaming through the trees, though much of the forest was affected by a sickness, this part of it was still the way it had been spoken of long ago when it was known as Greenwood the Great. It was truly beautiful she thought as she ran her toes through the long grass and lifted a scarlet leaf up to the sunlight. She could see its veins silhouetted against the sun and could feel the life rippling through the forest and for some reason found her eyes wet with tears once again.

Sitting up at the sound of a rustle she peered into the edge of the clearing, her breath catching in her throat as a white stag walked silently into the meadow. It froze as it heard her move, staring at her with piercing gold eyes, one hoof lifted gracefully in the air. Katya breathed out in admiration, the stag was like a creature from another world; she had never seen one like it before.

"They are sacred to our people."

Katya jumped suddenly, the stag taking off into the woods. She stared in awe at the elf-man who walked silently along the side of the meadow, raising a jeweled hand to touch the brilliant leaves with reverence. The breeze rustled his nearly white hair around his ageless face, and his icy blue-grey eyes stared at her, piercing into her soul. Katya's breath caught in her throat, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and when she looked at him it was like looking at the face of eternity. A crown of red leaves and berries graced his ageless head, long flowing robes of muted gold fell to the ground where it blended into the golden leaves that littered the meadow.

"You are fortunate to have seen one," the king continued, his hand falling from the leaves to his side, "They have grown lesser as the years have passed. My woods are ill."

Thranduil continued slowly walking around the meadow, observing the human child that had found hospitality within his realm. His eyes fell to the grave of her father, holly berries already beginning to grow up around the gravestone. His forest responded to the hearts of those buried here, this had been a good man, a generous, kind man.

"Thank you for the condolences you offered me upon the passing of my father, my lord, and for the generosity you have shown me." Katya choked out, unable to take her eyes off of the Elven king. Thranduil paused, his eyes piercing hers.

"I did not think you would recall meeting me that night."

"In truth my lord, I did not remember it until I heard your voice just now. I'm sorry for my rudeness." Thranduil waved his hand dismissively at her words. He was surprised at how educated this girl sounded, he had assumed the inhabitants of Lake-town to be sadly decayed heirs of the citizens of Dale.

"I did not expect you to have recollected anything from that night. I am not offended."

"Thank you, you are most gracious." Katya bowed her head, finally able to peal her eyes from the king's face. She did not look up again until she felt his fingertips beneath her chin, drawing her gaze back to his. She could feel the cool metal of his rings against the soft flesh beneath her chin, and it made goose-bumps break out across her skin. He looked into her eyes and her breath caught in her throat, his gaze was like a god observing a mortal.

"Gi nathlam hí, you are welcome to visit your father's grave, whenever you desire it. I give you freedom of my realm child." While his face did not change from its regal visage, something in the way his eyes softened warmed his words. Katya could see the echo of loss in his eyes and found comfort in them.

"Katya," she murmured breathlessly, without thinking, staring into his striking eyes, and he raised a regal eyebrow at her uncomprehendingly. "My name, my name is Katya."

"Katya," he repeated, tilting his head thoughtfully. "What does that name mean in your tongue?"

"Pure," she answered immediately.

"Like a clear mountain spring," he mused, casting his eyes to the distance, as though picturing the one he had in mind. "My guards have named you Laesneniel. It means water child."

Katya blushed at that, remembering her dripping wet appearance when Bercalion had first met her. Thranduil dropped his hand from her chin, brushing away a blade of grass which had snagged in her wild tangles before moving away from her into the woods. She could only watch him admiringly as he disappeared from view. She knew that he was a ruler that she would be willing to serve the rest of her life. That must have been the time Katya had begun thinking of Thranduil as her king.

"Na lû e-govaned vîn." He said as he finally vanished into the woods, neither stopping nor turning to look at her again.


	3. Chapter 3

"As long as the heart beats,  
as long as body and soul keep together,  
I cannot admit that any creature endowed with a will has need to despair of life."

[Jules Verne]

"Wine comes in at the mouth  
And love comes in at the eye;  
That's all we shall know for truth  
Before we grow old and die.  
I lift the glass to my mouth,  
I look at you, and I sigh."

[W.B. Yeats]

Katya spent the winter among the elves of the Woodland Realm, and she still recalled the celebration of the winter solstice fondly. The elves of the Hall of Thranduil were a merry group and very attuned to the seasons and changings of the world around them. Their own rhythms matched the eternal cycles of the earth and sky and they celebrated as if it was their first time waking beneath the stars.

Though the forest was covered in a sleepy blanket of snow, the bonfire in the center of the clearing made it so that everyone could wear light summer tunics and the elves could go barefoot in the melting snow. Katya wore thin boots made of hide that tied up to her knees with leather straps over her leggings, she was too sensitive to the cold. A thin embroidered tunic and rope belt covered her torso. The other elves were dressed similarly, long braided hair glowing in the firelight, Katya's own blonde hair felt awkward and frizzy compared to theirs. But a few elleths she had gotten close to over the past few months had braided her hair back behind her ears, weaving in strands of holly that shone a merry green against the grey of winter.

Katya held a goblet of wine in her hand, sipping the fine Dorwinion wine and happily watching the elves dance and laugh around the fire to their music. Though the death of her father had been the saddest event in her life, it was impossible not to smile at the sight before her. The woodland elves certainly did cherish the wine that they traded through Lake-town from Esgaroth. It made Katya glad to know that she and her father brought so much enjoyment to these people. Wine was a symbol of abundance and joy and she could not fault them for reveling in it.

Katya laughed as a drunken Bercalion sauntered over to her, graceful even in his intoxicated state. She wondered how much he'd had to drink, it took excessive amounts for alcohol to even begin to affect an elf. Grabbing her hand he pulled her towards the fire despite her giggling protests, she didn't know how to dance the way they did but no one seemed to mind. She soon found herself being twirled around by a number of different elf-men and women. After a few more glasses of wine she found the world spinning even when she was not, stumbling back from the circle of dancers and falling on her butt in the snow, leaning back against something soft and warm.

"I am glad to see you are enjoying yourself," a melodic voice came from above her, and Katya blinked up at Thranduil, her eyes widening in horror as she realized she'd stumbled back against his wooden throne and was currently leaning against his leg. His crown was adorned with holly berries tonight in honor of winter and his robes were silver. She could see a soft flush on his own face from the wine. As she struggled to get up she caught the hem of her tunic with her heel and landed firmly on her backside again. A soft chuckle floated her way and Thranduil laid a hand on her head gently and Katya was comforted, relaxing back against his legs and continuing to watch the reverie. Blinking sleepily from the wine, Katya let her head fall back against his hand, his cool palm against her hot cheek and she fell dreamily asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

_"I chipped away at your cold exterior_  
 _dodged shards of ice until you were no longer hard,_  
 _but even though I cracked the surface_  
 _your heart would not melt."_

[Christy Ann Martine]

 _"O never say that I was false of heart,_  
 _Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify:_  
 _As easy might I from myself depart_  
 _As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie"_

[William Shakespeare]

Katya couldn't believe that it had been four years since her time among the elves, though she still saw them frequently she had returned to living in her father's house in Lake-town. She could not leave the memory of her father to slowly waste away in the eyes of the people he had lived around all his life. Katya had never been the kind of person to overly depend on others for support so she found returning to her father's trade a relief. Though she'd loved her time with the elves she enjoyed being on the river again.

She had changed in four years, her body growing stronger, baby fat melting away from her face, and she had cut her wild hair short so that it fell choppily around her chin. Katya found herself growing more like her father every day, she was silent and strong, speaking only with carefully chosen words to those she deemed worth speaking to. Many of the townspeople in Lake-town thought her mute, traumatized by the death of her father, which they felt was a natural consequence of dealing with the strange woodland elves. Others found her excessively proud and were apt to look down their noses at the orphaned girl who had shamefully still not taken a husband, instead choosing to do a man's work.

Digging her pole into the muck, Katya pushed herself easily up the river, her sharp eyes keenly observing the world around her, a contented smile settled on her face. Her arms and back were perpetually sore from the miles upstream, but it was a feeling Katya had come to cherish. Muted light filtered through the trees which had grown thicker along the river, branching in a canopy above it with long outstretched boughs.

Turning her gaze deeper into the woods, Katya's eyes narrowed, there was something about the Greenwood over the years which had become more hostile, and though she felt safe on the unpolluted river, she would no longer venture far from its banks when pausing to rest or eat. A silent oppressiveness hung over the woods. Fewer wine traders were now running the river. When she had first begun with her father they had only been one of several merchants who would row up the river to the elves, now Katya could count on one hand the number of families who would risk the fears within the woods.

Her eyes turned back to the river as she moved through a particularly deep and slow moving section of it. Her whole body felt tense as she tried to push quickly past it, it was here where the birds no longer sang that she felt the growing darkness most strongly. Katya's stomach churned with a nameless anxiety every time she pushed past this section of the River Running. A hissing noise and breaking of branches came from her left and Katya quickly grabbed for her bow, kneeling and notching an arrow into the bowstring. Her dark eyes stared into the foliage, as she remained still on the raft, waiting for any sign of movement. Katya had begun carrying the bow with her a few years back, when the shadows and noises had started. She and her father had always carried daggers with them but they were used as tools in cases of emergency, they'd never needed a weapon before. But now, though she'd never seen the sources of the shadows, Katya knew that her bow had offered her protection on more than one occasion.

Sensing movement out of the corner of her eye, Katya twisted and shot her arrow, an unearthly shriek echoing through the woods as a dark shape fell from the branches well within the forest. Lowering her bow she breathed out shakily, her heart beating rapidly. Normally a warning shot was enough to scare them off, but she'd never hit one before. Despite the nameless terror in her gut, Katya lashed the raft to a tree, stepping hesitantly onto the soft earth, grabbing a root as she drew herself up the bank, gathering her skirts in her hand as she drew deeper into the shadows of the trees. Being careful to keep the river in sight, she followed the path her arrow had taken, hoping to see the source of her years of fear at last. But when she arrived in a thicket, all she saw was a small puddle of black blood and a strange bulbous imprint where the beast must have hit the earth. Grabbing her dagger, Katya spun around in time to let out a surprised shriek as a thick sticky cord was wrapped around her and she was enveloped in the spider's deadly cocoon.

When she awoke it was to a pale light that seemed to hang in the air and soft fingers on her wrist. Blinking, Katya's eyes appraised the elegant figure of an elf, his long white hair falling into his face as he examined her arm with interest. Her clothing had been removed and her torso clad in a soft white tunic. A tattoo of holly branches was visible, wrapping up her arm and disappearing over her shoulder, a white stag peeking out among the leaves, the name of her father in elvish wrapped around her wrist from where the branches sprang. Her king's fingers were tracing the lettering and he was examining the artwork. She knew that the elves did not anoint themselves with tattoos, but it was a common practice among the men of Lake-town and Katya had accumulated a few over the years. Katya had never been embarrassed by her tattoos before but now worried what he would think of them. Thranduil's eyes moved to meet hers, having sensed her gaze and the change in her breathing when she awoke.

He had been standing at her side for only a short time, she had been unconscious all night, and it was now the grey dawn of early morning. He had only meant to stay for a moment on his walk through his realm and see that she was doing alright but had found himself drawing closer to her in her unconscious state, startled to see how much she had changed in the brief years he had not laid eyes on her. The fleetingness of mortals was always a surprise to him, he could already see soft lines beginning to form on her face, and a few silver strands were visible, littering her golden head. He could not tell if they had been bleached by the sun or were an early onset of age.

Katya's appearance was strange to him, her arms and shoulders were strong, molded by the Celduin. She-elves, though strong, did not show their strength as evidently in the shape of their bodies and were apt to remain thin and lithe regardless of how much labor they did. Thranduil had found himself observing the ink which marked the girl's skin, his fingers touching a holly berry on her wrist, remembering the day they had conversed at her father's grave. Though he found the marks well-constructed, he did not understand why she would choose to bear them on her body forever. But then, human lives were short, an elf would be left with the markings for centuries, the human before him only for decades.

"It is a reminder of my father," Katya told him, her chest hurting when she spoke, and she grimaced.

"You have cracked two of your ribs," Thranduil told her, "Be still and recover, you will be cared for here."

"Thank you my lord." She answered with a smile that brought a light to her face. But in her eyes Thranduil could see the hardness of grief. It was a grief that was not often seen in the eyes of elves and it was always strange to him to find his own loss reflected in the eyes of a human.

"Forgive me for not seeing to your safety."

Katya smiled appreciatively at him and her fingers entwining with his in a gentle and grateful squeeze. He looked at her small hand in surprise, unused to such familiar contact by one so foreign. Her fingers were rough, the hands of a laborer. He could not imagine her with smooth hands, her whole appearance was coarse and choppy. Even her name, Katya, sliced against the tongue when it was spoken aloud.

"I begrudge the Greenwood nothing, even less its master." She answered him finally her voice labored from the pain in her chest.

"I have not heard mortals call it by that name for many decades." Thranduil murmured, allowing his fingers to trace over her browned knuckles. "They style it Mirkwood."

"I would not place a title so bitter on a land which has brought me such joy."

"And robbed you of so much." He countered, their eyes locking, sharing a moment of knowing at the loss each one had suffered. She did not ask him what had happened, Katya was content to grieve together in silence.

"Humans die." Her voice had dropped to a whispered pain. "Our lot is to suffer this end. I cannot blame our nature on something else."

Thranduil observed her in silence, she had looked away from him and there were tears in her eyes. Despite avoiding his gaze her fingers had tightened on his own and Thranduil found himself examining her hand once again. A soft sob escaped her lips and Katya lifted her other hand to her mouth to muffle her pain as she cried softly. Her king stood silently there, allowing her to take comfort in his hand in hers and his presence. He had assumed that humans lived their lives in willful ignorance to the bitterness of their end. But here was one so young who was already so aware of death. It did not take long for her tears to end, she had cried many times for her father and knew she would cry many times still.

"Find refreshment in my realm Katya," her king commanded, smoothing her tangled hair away from her blotchy face with his free hand. His cool palm brought her comfort and Katya allowed her eyes to close peacefully.

When his scouts had discovered her abandoned raft on the banks of the Celduin during their regular patrol it had not taken them long to find the corpse of the giant spider, bled to death hours ago beside her wrapped figure. Thranduil was grateful for her safety. Though she would eventually die, he found the idea of laying her to rest beside her father's grave so early into her life disheartening. And with the ever-growing darkness in his woods, fewer and fewer wine traders would make the journey upriver to trade with them. The elves of Mirkwood were perhaps overly fond of good wine and it would be a great loss to lose one of their best suppliers.

Disentangling his fingers from Katya's, Thranduil moved to leave, his eyes appraising her for a final time before moving soundlessly from the room. He had duties that required him and more important events to see to than to sit at the side of a wounded human. As he left he sensed Bercalion slip into her room, back from his patrol. The Captain had been out all night, helping his guards beat back the spiders along the Celduin in order to preserve its safety and this was the first chance he'd had to see her. Thranduil knew how close Bercalion had been with her father and how close he'd since grown to Katya. He didn't understand the elf's infatuation with humans. Thranduil had nothing against them and recognized and appreciated Katya's worth, but she was still different from them and all humans were only children, never living long enough to attain true wisdom. And children were only interesting for so long.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Underneath my outside face_  
 _There's a face that none can see._  
 _A little less smiley,_  
 _A little less sure,_  
 _But a whole lot more like me."_

[Shel Silverstein]

 _"My sorrow, when she's here with me,_  
 _thinks these dark days of autumn rain_  
 _are beautiful as days can be;_  
 _she loves the bare, the withered tree;_  
 _she walks the sodden pasture lane."_

[Robert Frost]

Drawing her bowstring back, Katya could feel her shoulder muscles pulling together, her back tightening under the heavy draw-weight of her bow. Breathing in Katya held her breath and released the arrow. The bowstring smacked hard into her leather guard on her left arm and the arrow thudded into the center ring of the target fifty meters away. She could feel the eyes of the elves on her as she practiced, some were shooting at other targets, and others were interested in observing their human friend. Katya was always embarrassed to practice in front of the elves whose keen eyesight made them deadly with the bow. She had incredible precision within fifty meters, which she had gained from practicing shooting at trees along the river, but her skills began to diminish once targets grew to a greater distance.

"You have some skill." Katya did not start at the voice, used to the elves being able to get close to her without her noticing by now. Instead she turned and bowed slightly to the crown prince of Mirkwood as he stood, leaning against his own bow, an inviting smile on his face.

"Nothing to brag about among the elves I am sure." She answered good-naturedly, shooting at her next target, seventy-five meters away. She frowned as her arrow landed just outside of the center.

"Perhaps your bow is to blame for that," he suggested. "May I?"

Katya handed over her bow to his offered hand and Legolas inspected it with some interest, testing its draw weight, some surprise crossing his face at how heavy it was before frowning slightly.

"It is not a bad bow, but it is not of elvish make," he concluded and Katya shrugged in acknowledgement of the truth of his statement. Her bow was smaller than a longbow and less powerful, not allowing her to shoot as hard or far. She was surprised when he offered her his own bow.

She took it reverently, her hands running across the intricate carvings, wondering at its apparent delicacy. The bow itself appeared to be a composite of both antler and wood, making it incredibly strong and light, either end of the bow curved gently away from the archer who held it. The bowstring was almost soft to the touch, but when she drew it back she felt her muscles straining against the weight of it. She could tell that though his bow was smaller than a manmade longbow, it was just as, if not more powerful. Lowering the bow she grinned at him.

"This is amazing craftsmanship," she told him and was surprised when he handed her an arrow, which she fitted into the drawstring eagerly. Breathing deeply she exhaled as she pulled the string back to the corner of her mouth aiming at her final target one hundred meters away. Katya could feel the incredible workmanship of both bow and arrow and with confidence flowing through her veins, turned her sights on a target fifty meters farther on than the one she'd been aiming at and released. The string smacked hard into her leather guard, the impact reverberating up her arm and the arrow flew truly to the center of the bull on the target. A scattered murmuring of melodic voices erupted among the elves who had been watching them, impressed by the young human. The most skilled of their archers, such as Legolas, could shoot accurately twice as far as her, but for a human she was shooting near the maximum distance of their skill.

"We shall have to take you on one of our hunting parties Laesneniel," Legolas complimented, receiving the bow she returned to him. She flushed prettily at his compliment and smiled widely, making her appear much more feminine than she usually looked.

Thranduil watched unnoticed from beneath a terrace above them. His fingers ran across the carved railing as he observed the human thoughtfully. She stood there in simple muted clothes of a peasant woman, her heavy cotton skirts of faded browns out of place among the rich green shades the elves wore. He wondered again at how this girl had infiltrated his realm, not truly one of them but neither an outsider either. She would soon be gone from their lives, too frail to move up the river but for now she offered his people a fleeting source of interest. It was good for them to have something to dwell on other than the growing darkness in their woods.

As Katya returned to shooting targets with her own bow Thranduil's forehead creased slightly in dissatisfaction. It would not do to have her taken from them sooner than her own mortality. If she could so defend herself with a bow, then she needed one equal to her skill and capable of the task. He left the terrace with purpose, her form as she drew back her bow still etched in his mind. He had Bercalion deliver the gift to her before she left and the thanks she gave him she wished she could also express to her king. The bow would bring her comfort and protection for many years.


	6. Chapter 6

_"If there's any kind of magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone, sharing something._  
 _I know, it's almost impossible to succeed, but...who cares, really? The answer must be in the attempt."_

[Before Sunrise]

 _"They slipped_  
 _briskly_  
 _into an intimacy_  
 _from which they_  
 _never recovered"_

[F. Scott Fitzgerald]

Katya was wandering through the halls of the palace, her bare feet moving as silently as a mortal's could over the smooth stone and wood. She did so merely to exercise the freedom she'd been given of Thranduil's realm, always invigorated when she passed a guard who would observe her but not stop her. She had not used this freedom in some years other than to visit her father's grave. Today she found herself in a great open hall which she examined with wonder and excitement. Sunlight streamed in through many openings in the high ceilings and Katya wandered down a massive root which had been carved into a pathway. She was so busy examining the hall around, above, and below her that she did not notice that she was approaching a dais until she reached the top of a flight of stairs.

Katya froze at this, her gaze drifting up the stairs carved into a great root which spiraled down from the ceiling and the throne that sat in it, enormous antlers from a beast she could not imagine arrayed behind it. The throne was mercifully empty but that did not stop the fast beating of her heart and Katya cast her eyes around her for a moment, hesitating as she looked back up at the antlers which she could hardly believe were real. She placed a bare foot on the first step, her heart beating faster and a slight sweat breaking out on her skin as she ascended the stairs she knew she had no right to walk on. But when she made it to the throne and extended her left hand to touch the antlers her fear turned into wonder. She ran her fingers across the unfamiliar surface very much convinced of their authenticity as she saw them up close. Her right hand strayed to the arm of the throne to steady her as she continued to examine the massive antlers.

"You are quite bold for a mortal." The flatness of the voice made her blood run cold and Katya froze. Her hand slowly lowered from the antlers as she heard his light steps on the throne's stairs. His tall crown of wood and the green of summer perched imposingly on his head, rich robes of maroon and grey trailing behind him. Swallowing thickly, she turned to face him as he stood on the step below her, his icy eyes narrowed at her calculatingly. He bent his head close to hers, arms clasped behind his back and she gulped in fear at his intimidating presence.

"I beg your forgiveness lord, though I have no right to it." Katya managed in a breathy whisper, curtsying low on the step, her eyes down cast and body tense. To her surprise he walked past her, casting his sash on the throne and falling elegantly into it, crossing his legs and leaning back languidly as someone who knew of their own authority and did not feel the need to prove it. Katya sank to a seat on the top stair in fearful exhaustion, not daring to look past the toes of his boots. Had she done so she would have seen the smirk that crossed Thranduil's face at her reaction.

"They are from the great elks which walked freely in the northern realms long ago." Katya looked up in surprise at Thranduil who was gesturing to the antlers.

"They are magnificent." Katya responded instantly. "I would have loved to have seen one."

"You may still," Thranduil said, his gaze returning to the human girl who sat at his feet. "Though they are few in number now, they are not yet gone from these lands."

Katya smiled brightly at the thought, her eyes unfocused as if imagining such an encounter and Thranduil continued to observe her silently. Had he not found her while in good humor it was likely she would not have fared as well against him. But the mortal had established some foothold of softness in his heart and the look of awe and wonder on her face when he had found her had brought satisfaction to his pride. Turning his eyes to an elf who approached his throne, wide-eyed as he saw the human perched there, Thranduil gestured to him and the servant returned quickly with two goblets and a pitcher of wine.

Seeing this Katya quickly retrieved the glasses and pitcher at the base of the throne, her eyes locking with Thranduil's as she glanced back up. He waved her forward, satisfied at her learned obedience when it came to approaching his throne. He gestured back to the step she had previously sat on, awaiting her move. Seating herself at his feet, Katya carefully poured the first goblet, offering it to him and did not pour her own until he had taken a sip.

"I thank you lord," she said politely and Thranduil waved away her thanks.

"It is your own wine child." He answered with amusement, smirking when her nose crinkled slightly in dislike of the title.

"Your wine, sir, I neither make nor buy it."

"It is conceded." He agreed, swirling the wine in his cup. It matched the insides of his fine robes that hung from his chair. "How fare you?"

"Well, my lord," Katya answered, surprised by his inquiry. This was certainly not what she had expected after being caught atop his throne, but his eyes, though impassive, were still encouraging so she continued. "The summer has been wet and swelled the river which makes my job easier and more delightful."

"You prefer the summer?" He asked, taking another sip of wine, watching her trail her finger across the rim of the cup in her hand.

"I suppose so," Katya replied thoughtfully after another sip of wine which was already bringing a bloom of pinkness to her cheeks. "There is so much life in the summer and the river water is cool enough for refreshment but not cold enough to bring numbness. The sunlight brings warmth to my heart."

"I am of the opposite inclination." Thranduil responded after a time of considering her words. "In the summer I can see how my woods have declined, but in the winter both the dead and dormant look the same and bring hope for a more flourishing spring. With the leaves gone I can walk in my forest and still see the stars."

"The stars are precious to the elves," Katya observed, and Thranduil's eyes trailed to hers calculatingly. "I suppose I understand that. While everything about you changes the stars are constant companions."

Thranduil considered her thoughtfully as she went back to sipping on the wine, worrying over whether she'd overstepped a boundary. This was certainly unexpected. A human child sat at his feet on the top step of his throne where none other would dare to tread and rather than throw her out he was conversing with her. Thranduil could not deny that he was enjoying the company of a conversation partner which was so rarely offered to him. His wife had once been the companion to him in whom he could confide and speak freely, for before his subjects he needed a proper façade of strength and impassivity. While this girl considered him lord, she was not truly one of his own and so he found in her someone he could talk to, at least briefly when they stumbled upon one another.

"We celebrate the changes around us, it is not our way to be so divorced from the world as some of our kin. Even constant starlight illuminates a fluctuating world. And so we seek to be like them: ever aware of those changes which in their cycles reflect eternity." He saw her visibly relax after he spoke and she seemed to be considering his words rather than simply allowing them to wash over her. She did not immediately accept them as his people would, but allowed them to roll about in her mind before inclining her head in acceptance. Perhaps it was a mark of her independent life or simply a sign of their unfamiliarity with each other, but he found her refusal to immediately agree with any of his words to please him.

"I have heard you called grey elves…" She began and Thranduil looked at her sharply, raising a heavy brow in disbelief. She acquiesced to him. "Well, I have read of it."

"How came you by this knowledge?" He asked, surprised that she was educated enough to read well and suspicious of where she'd come by the lore of the elves which this certainly entailed.

"We… my father and I, are descendants of the lore masters of Dale." Katya answered, with a slight flush to her cheeks. "The books which survived we care for; I have read them many times in my solitude. They speak of you with this title, but never explain why."

"It is unfamiliarity with our language that confuses you." Thranduil explained. "Elves of my lineage are known as the Sindar: the grey people. Elf-lore teaches that we chose to remain in the east, while others of our kindred crossed the seas into the west. Our numbers have dwindled greatly since the Last Alliance."

"But there are so many of you here, my Lord, thousands." Katya replied, her eyes wide at his mentioning of the Last Alliance, had Thranduil himself been there?

"Most of my people are Woodland Elves who never went so far west as the Misty Mountains. When my father came to this land they appointed him ruler over them." Thranduil's eyes were clouded in mist as though he was recalling times long past. Katya had no doubt he was remembering his own arrival with his father in the Greenwood.

"I knew you had lived far longer than I, but you must have been born at the dawn of the last age to recall such events." Thranduil smirked easily at her unasked question.

"Is it not considered rude among your people to inquire of a person's age?" Katya blushed quite red, her expression making Thranduil smile into his goblet as he sipped his wine.

"I-I apologize for any offense I have given—I never meant to…" She trailed off as he began chuckling, and this earned him a scandalized look from her as she frowned at him. "You're teasing me!"

"Consider it payment for your pestering." Thranduil responded easily, swirling the last mouthful of wine in his glass before consuming it. He tossed the empty goblet to the elf who had brought them wine and stood from his throne. "I must bid you farewell, Katya. I have duties to attend to."

"Thank you for the pleasure of your company my lord." Katya scrambled quickly to her feet and dipped in a slight curtsy. The edge of Thranduil's mouth twitched slightly in amusement and he passed her quickly, moving off to other parts of his kingdom that required him.

Katya sank back onto the step of his throne for a moment in a slight daze, still not certain whether she had dreamt the encounter or not. Pressing her hands to her still warm cheeks she shook her head to clear it of the memory of his piercing gaze before picking up her still half full goblet and carefully descending his throne. Katya glanced over her shoulder once more as she walked away, taking in the sight of the huge antler, and hurried out of the throne room.

* * *

AN: So I really hate that they made a racial issue out of the Silvan and Sindarin elves in the movie, this doesn't seem to be Tolkien's vision of the elves, therefore I'm ignoring it c: also, Katya is about 23 here.


	7. Chapter 7

_"There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,_  
 _There is a rapture on the lonely shore,_  
 _There is society, where none intrudes,_  
 _By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:_  
 _I love not Man the less, but Nature more,_  
 _From these our interviews, in which I steal_  
 _From all I may be, or have been before,_  
 _To mingle with the Universe, and feel_  
 _What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal."_

Lord Byron

Thranduil walked along the Celduin in places where his forest was still green. He had escaped his halls for the day to find companionship with his woods, discovering understanding in the trees that plunged their roots thirstily into the river. He walked barefoot upon the cool earth, trailing fingers across the trunks of old trees, companions to him across the ages, drawing comfort from their vitality. The Celduin offered life to a forest which fell steadily into decline and he would trust it to preserve the greenness of its banks for many years yet. He made sure to guard it jealously, a precious stream of silver in a plundered land.

He became aware of her presence from afar, a gentle splashing of the water and soft humming coming to his keen ears. He approached silently, interested to see her in her own work. Through the foliage he espied Katya, her raft halted and her heavy cotton skirts cast aside, she was floating in the river, swimming in its cool water on the hot day. Even from this distance he could see she had once again changed. Her form was womanly now rather than girlish, and while she was still fit she had gained form to her body which spoke of the prime of womanhood. Thranduil thought back, trying to recall how long it had been since he'd last laid eyes on her. Nearly five years.

"Bercalion?" She asked suddenly, peering into the trees, pulling herself onto a rock near the opposite bank of the river. She perched there like a water nymph, clothed only in thick linen undergarments which clung revealingly to her body, her eyes were playful and unburdened; Hair grown much longer than he remembered, falling in ringlets past her shoulders to caress the swell of her breasts.

Katya's breath caught in her throat as he emerged from the shadows of the trees, silver hair shining in the sunlight. It had been many years since she had seen him and Katya smiled at her king happily. He was unchanged and yet, in such a setting so much different than how she had known him. His regality was unmistakable, but today he wore simple clothes meant for the woods, his bare feet sinking into the mud of the bank.

"Hail, Lord Thranduil," she called to him, standing on her rock to curtsy in her wet breeches and clinging blouse.

"Hail, water child." He responded softly and her eyes crinkled in amusement at such a greeting.

"May I offer you refreshment my lord?" He inclined his head in acceptance of her offer, and she dove back into the water, swimming to him and the raft. "I'm afraid it is simple fair."

That was how Thranduil found himself reclining on the raft with her, Katya's hair dripping soft melodious drops onto the wood as they ate a peasant's meal and sipped wine out of the same skin. Thranduil let his feet trail in the cool water, washing away the earth which had clung to them over his long walk. They found silence together for a time and observed each other with unabashed interest. Even her mannerisms had changed, she looked at him without girlish blushing but with confident curiosity. There was knowledge in her eyes now, around which some lines had begun, her movements were more sure and practiced. Unapologetic.

"In the eyes of my people you are younger than our children, yet you seem more matured," he observed, recalling her ire when he used to call her by that title. There was only amusement in her eyes now.

"I do not have the same leisure to achieve maturity that your people do my lord. If I had, I would not have given up childhood so soon." She smiled gently at him, twisting a strand of her wet hair around her finger absentmindedly. Her face was browned and freckled by years in the sun, but the color suited her. As her hand fell to her side Thranduil caught it in his, running fingers across her palm, feeling its roughness like armor.

"The river beats against the soft earth to carve a path. Yet the softness it found in you has hardened rather than give way." She laughed softly at his words and Thranduil looked at her somewhat reproachfully but she did not apologize. He found that he enjoyed the soft breathiness of her laugh and it wore against his cold exterior like the river, slowly washing it away.

"I have striven against this river all my life, I would be worn to nothing if I did not harden from its touch." She trailed her fingers in the water for a moment, letting a few droplets fall upon his open palm, taking her own time now to run her fingers across his hand. His hands were strong and neither hard nor soft, but in them the constancy of ages rested.

"And though the current of centuries beats against you my lord, you neither give way nor react to them. How the years must hate your aloofness to the howling call of time." Though she said this with mirth it made the smirk fall from his face and her eyes instantly became discerning and concerned.

"Time has eroded more than you know," he said, icy eyes piercing her own grey ones and he watched the shock appear in her face as he allowed the elf magic to fade from his face, revealing the mutilated flesh of his dealings with the dragons of the north. Her fingers tightened on his palm and her eyes flashed in pain and regret at her words, but she did not recoil from him as he had expected.

Instead she reached out a tentative hand her fingers hovering inches from his skin. Thranduil watched her impassively, her brow creased with pain but her eyes full of wonder. His own eyes flickered for a moment when her cold fingers met his scarred cheek, pressing there for a time, her thumb tracing across his skin. The elf magic returned and beneath her fingers she felt the flesh of a whole face, the scars hidden from the world once again. At this she lost her boldness and her hand dropped back to the raft.

"Is that where you attained your loss my lord?" Her voice was barely a whisper and his eyes flashed in momentary anger at her words, pain coursing through his body at the memory of dragon fire and the screams of his wife as she died to save their son. Katya's eyes remained on the raft, her own grief reflected in them and her sadness abated his wrath. She found his hand beneath her chin again, and though he did not speak as she gazed into his eyes she found her answer. His hand trailed down her neck to rest on her damp shoulder and Katya had no warning other than a brief smirk appearing on his face as he shoved her off the raft into the river.

Thranduil laughed as the raft rocked beneath him and reclined contentedly waiting for her to resurface. It was only after nearly a minute passed that he began to worry, had she hit her head on some hidden rock? His chest clenched as he moved to the edge of the raft, peering into the hazy river. Her arms shot out of the water and locked around his shoulders in a vice grip and Thranduil found himself dragged into the river with a great splash, resurfacing with an undignified splutter, looking like a bathed cat. His eyes flashed dangerously at Katya's mirthful laughing which only increased at his ire as she treaded water some feet from him.

Thranduil made a swipe for her, but she kicked easily out of his reach with a renewed bought of laughter bubbling up in her throat. The king of the woodland realm found himself chasing after this wine merchant in the depths of his own river and he did it smiling. It was when she swam too close to the shallows that he captured her, being taller his feet found purchase first and he kicked off hard. Strong fingers caught her ankle and he yanked her to him, an arm capturing her waist and he dunked her again which did nothing to stop her giggling, and he found a smile crossing his own face as he held her there, holding her up in the depths where she still could not touch. Their eyes locked and he could see the adoration in them as he smoothed her hair away from her face. Her desire brought pain to his own heart. Thranduil looked away from her, his brow creasing in frustration, not knowing how to approach this situation.

"I seek nothing from you my lord, yet you have given me so much." Katya spoke before he could, as if reading his own thoughts of hesitation. Thranduil looked at her impassively his chest clenching, knowing that she loved him and had loved him, never expecting even as much as this. He brushed water droplets from her forehead, kissing her soft brow as she closed her eyes at his touch. He let her bury her head against his chest for a moment, her arms wrapped around his neck while he held her own body tightly against his.

For a moment he allowed himself the luxury of holding her firm body against his own, her skin against his branding him like fire. Yet over the ages his grief had not cooled from the loss of his wife, and this woman would fade quicker than she had. He would not bring himself that pain again. Katya was the one who broke the embrace and smiled at him, kicking up in the water she kissed his cheek, his scarred cheek. The contact was as fast as a rain drop striking the earth and then it was gone, only the dampness of her lips lingered there as she swam back to her raft and pulled herself out of the water, her strong body accentuated by the soaked clothes, river water pouring off of her.

"I must leave you my king, if you are to have your shipment of wine at all today, and I shall lodge in your halls until the night has passed for I shall arrive with the twilight." Thranduil swam to her and she helped him onto the raft, their hands lingering on one another's for a moment.

"Safe travels my lady, may my halls ever be a joy to you." Their hands slid away from one another's as he stepped onto the bank. He did not look back as he disappeared into the woods.


End file.
